


Snow Days

by underoriginal



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Canon Autistic Character, F/F, Fluff, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-08-08 15:45:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7763674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/underoriginal/pseuds/underoriginal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Quick fluff for a tumblr prompt. Symmetra hates the cold, but Zarya introduces her to the snow and she finds it much more tolerable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snow Days

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to send me prompts or ideas at magicalmanhattanproject.tumblr.com

Symmetra… doesn’t deal well with the cold. That’s the easiest way to phrase it. (Never show weakness. Places for growth, not places of inadequacy.) Luckily for her, she has rarely experienced it with much intensity. She grew up in India, then worked in Brazil, and defected to a half rotted, half remembered base in Spain. 

And then she is sent to Russia. Not just Russia. Siberia.

Symmetra is a professional and more than a professional. She is one of the greatest, if not the greatest, architechs in the world. She has pioneered techniques that became fundamentals of the art of light manipulation. She has never once been less than perfectly poised whilst on the job.

This is why she does not cry or hit Winston when he informs her of the mission. Just nods her head politely and accepts. Overwatch only has the one architech after all. It is a suboptimal mission for her, but essential for her team.

It’s a simple repair mission. Her and Zarya and no one else on the tiny sea plane that brings them to Siberia. They’re going to a village that had been attacked by Omnics to restore what they can and gain valuable intelligence on Omnic movements.

Symmetra understands the principles behind dressing for the cold, at least. A heavy coat (thick and oppressive), a warm hat (muffling all sounds), and sturdy boots (cinder blocks strapped to her feet). 

Zarya is-not unexpectedly- far more comfortable in the situation. She wears her RDF uniform, ignoring the biting winds that threaten to remove Symmetra’s head from her shoulders (wind can’t actually do that but it doesn’t stop her neck from prickling).

They arrive just as a storm begins to settle in, the plane bursting out of the black clouds like a demon giving birth. The locals usher them inside, talking rapidly and excitedly. Symmetra finds herself a quiet corner and soft blanket to recuperate in while Zarya mingles with their hosts, expertly steering the conversation with her usual charm and grace (more than Symmetra-or anyone really-had expected from a massive weightlifter and soldier).

Symmetra’s Russian is functional at best and she is no longer quite as terrified to admit that she is not at her best. For all her love of working alone, she is glad to have Zarya with her to wave away questioning glances and curious words.

This village is primitive compared to what Symmetra is used to and she has only just begun warming her hands in front of the fireplace (an actual fire. a real, burning, deadly fire.) when Zarya taps her gently on the shoulder.

Zarya’s eyes are bright and there is a look of quiet wonder on her face. “Look,” she says in a hushed whisper. “The first snow of winter.”

Symmetra glances up from her corner and gasps aloud. Through the aged and marbled glass, white sparkling snowflakes fall from the sky, dancing as they’re tossed by the wind.

Almost without realizing it, Symmetra stands, puts her hands to the glass and peers out. Thick flakes glisten and sparkle, highlighting the air currents like Symmetra has done since she was a child with bright dyes and scale models of buildings.

The sheer iridescence before might overwhelm her if not for the dark buildings to offer contrast. As snow begins to pile on the buildings, hiding their natural imperfections, Symmetra wonders if she could guess the layout of the village based on nothing more than what she can see out of these windows. But even that mental exercise is filed away as she watched individual flakes dip and dance and eventually add themselves to a pristine shining whole.

“It is beautiful, yes?” Zarya murmurs. Her voice sounds like the dark buildings covered with snow, but without any imperfections to hide.

Symmetra nods. She hates the cold, always will, but she finds that she can brave it for the snow.

(At least until Zarya introduces her to snowballs.)


End file.
